


Grow As We Go

by hopeadinfinitum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Dancing, Drinking, Gay Bar, Gay Draco Malfoy, Grinding, Hand Jobs, I'm just playing with words here, Inexperienced Draco Malfoy, Inexperienced Harry Potter, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Swearing, exercising my stiff writing muscles, for now, is this smut, it's not not smut, not in that order, writing as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeadinfinitum/pseuds/hopeadinfinitum
Summary: Harry didn’t leave because, if he thought about it for a second,  if Malfoy was here, alone, in Harry’s club, then perhaps he too was looking for an escape from the stifling expectations of the post-war world. And perhaps they had one more thing in common on top of messed up childhoods and a history of playing toy soldiers in a war fought by old men.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

> I have an exam tomorrow, so I figured now would be the perfect time to post a chapter from the first fic I've written in over a decade. Go easy on me; I'm just playing with these beloved boys, and letting them help me exercise my writing muscles. I'm not 100% sure where this is going yet, and I can't guarantee anything much in terms of updates, making me automatically my own least favourite author. But I quite like this so far, so I figure I might as well share!

  
The first time Harry saw him after Hogwarts was a surprise for many reasons.

When Harry’s green eyes met Draco Malfoy’s grey ones across the pulsing dance floor, his first thought, after a moment of blind panic, was to leave, get the hell out of Dodge, because this could not end well.

Except, Harry didn’t leave. He didn’t leave, because listening to the sensible voice in his head had never been his strong suit, and anyway, the voice sounded suspiciously like Hermione when she was reminding him to be pragmatic and think about his future and fill in job applications, and tonight was all about getting away from that voice. 

Things had settled down since the long, torturous days and sleepless nights after the battle, but Harry still felt far from ready to move on with his life. Not after everything that had happened. They had buried their dead in a series of never-ending, heartbreaking funerals, and, still numb from crying, he had given countless interviews to the press and the ministry about the finer details of their hunt for horcruxes. After that, he’d thrown himself into the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts in a desperate attempt to help the Wizarding World regain some normalcy.

And then, Harry had turned to muggle London to distract himself from the emptiness of his new life without prophecy. Trawling the markets and sitting in cafes in the morning, watching inane films on big screens of an afternoon, and at night, dipping his feet in the world of muggle nightlife. 

Harry had discovered a whole new universe of escapism in bright lights and thrumming bass.

Harry didn’t leave because, if he thought about it for a second, if Malfoy was here, alone, in Harry’s club, then perhaps he too was looking for an escape from the stifling expectations of the post-war world. And perhaps they had one more thing in common on top of messed up childhoods and a history of playing toy soldiers in a war fought by old men.

Broomsticks was a gay club. Harry had never liked labels - he’d had enough of them for one lifetime, being the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and the ‘Chosen One’ - and he hadn’t quite settled on one that adequately described his sexuality. He did know, however, that he felt safe here, and that sometimes he enjoyed kissing boys in dark corners of the club as much as he’d enjoyed kissing Ginny in the Common Room after winning the Quidditch Cup.

He and Ginny had agreed in the days after the battle that it wasn’t the time for them to rekindle their relationship. Maybe one day, but for now they both needed time to heal from bigger wounds. And Harry, out alone some weeks later, had found himself across the bar from a beautiful boy who looked at him like he was edible, and he had embraced it, and not looked back since.

So, listening to his instinct rather than that little voice in his head telling him to leave, he raised an eyebrow at the blond across the room, and smirked at the look of confusion which settled on his features.

With that out of the way, he threw himself back into dancing with the body in front of him, giving himself over to the freedom that being here afforded him. He’d never been much of a dancer, but he could feel the music in his bones, the alcohol in his veins, and the hard, lean body against his, and he just let himself melt into it.

He was pulled from his thoughts by an arm slipping around his waist like a whisper. He lent back into it, smiling apologetically to the boy he’d been dancing with, who shot whoever was behind him a dirty look before disappearing into the crowd of undulating bodies.

He swayed his hips slightly, dancing against this new body with his eyes closed, pleased to find a delicious hardness pressed against his arse. He groaned slightly, and arched his neck back, only to experience what was probably the auditory equivalent of being submerged in the Black Lake.

‘Well, this is a surprise, Potter.’ Malfoy’s voice was soft and sultry in his ear, and sent a shiver through him which made him spin around in his hold and jump back.

For a moment, Harry was frozen. Acceptance that he was here was one thing; a handshake and the shaky promise of a truce another, but this... Harry had not expected this. And he hadn’t expected, either, to realise that the person behind him was... fucking hot this close up, actually. His mouth went dry, and Malfoy smirked at him, challengingly. 

Malfoy looked healthier than he had the morning after the final battle, when he’d been almost skeletal thin and just as pale. He’d filled out a little, and though his features were still sharp on his face, Harry could see defined biceps beneath his white shirt. His hair had grown out too, and was pulled back into a messy bun, so unlike how he’d worn it in school, with tresses falling out and framing his face. The smirk, however, was just the same as it had always been, and yet, Harry couldn’t help feel a tug of interest at the way it was aimed at him, seemingly without threat for once.

‘Cat got your tongue, Potter?’ He was almost inaudible over the heavy beat of music in the club, and Harry felt himself moving closer, as if against his own will in order to hear him.

He tilted his head upwards towards Malfoy’s ear - when had the bastard gotten taller than him? - and replied, ‘No. And good thing, too, I figure I might need it.’ He felt rather than saw Malfoy gulp at that, and smirked, ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Didn’t think muggle gay clubs were your kind of scene...’.

‘I could say the same about you, Potter. Shows what we know about each other.’

They were dancing now - it was only natural, they were in a club, after all, for Harry to rest a hand on Malfoy’s chest, and for the blond to place both hands on Harry’s hips in return, and for them to move back and forth with the music. Harry’s brain was a mess as it sluggishly struggled to deal with this bizarre turn of events whilst his fourth double rum and coke entered his bloodstream, but this felt strangely good.

Strangely good enough to make him hard as they began to grind together in time to the music, and he gasped when he felt the answering hardness of Malfoy’s crotch brush against his. Fuck, what was happening? None of this seemed real; surely this was wrong, this was Malfoy for Merlin’s sake - this was the boy who’d tried his damnedest to make Harry’s time at school a living hell. The look in the other man’s eyes as he raised a quieting finger to Harry’s lips suggested his thoughts were plain on his face.

‘Shh. Stop thinking. It doesn’t mean anything,’ his voice was gentle and persuasive, and Harry was lost to it. ‘You’re drunk, I’m drunk, and you want this. You’re here, I’m here... nothing needs to happen, but it could. We could just forget for a while. Fuck, you feel good...’ Malfoy was cut off with a gasp as Harry rolled his hips a little more firmly against his. Fuck it, he thought to himself. This didn’t have to mean anything; he was young, and horny, and drunk, but not too drunk, and the voice in his head had gone quiet for the first time in months, and he wanted this, as bad an idea as it inevitably was.

Casting off all doubts, he angled his face towards his former rival’s, and brought their lips together for the first time.

The result was at once totally unexpected and exactly how Harry would have imagined kissing the Slytherin would be, had he ever dreamed of imagining it - which he most assuredly had not, thank you very much. He was met with fervour, a hot mouth on his which didn’t even for one second resist him. The kiss was a shock to his system, like lightening when a storm wasn’t forecast, or a stupefy from behind. His mouth opened of its own accord and was immediately invaded by the other man’s tongue, stroking his own and battling for dominance.

And if the kiss was lightening, Malfoy’s hands on his body were the thunder, firmly tracing up from his hips to his chest, coming to rest on his shoulders before one came to cup the back of his head to increase the pressure of the kiss.

Harry’s hands were far from idle, trailing the opposite way down Malfoy’s body, from his chest, to his hips and round, to discover a wonderfully firm arse. Carried away slightly, he squeezed, loving the feeling of the round cheeks beneath his hands, and Malfoy broke the kiss suddenly with a moan.

‘Fuck. Merlin, do that again.’ 

Harry did; Malfoy’s hips bucked slightly when he did, and he gasped, moving to kiss him again, but Malfoy’s mouth had moved to his neck, and was placing wet, open-mouthed kisses from his jawbone down, sucking hard on his pulse point in a way which was surely to leave a bruise. This time, Harry groaned, hands roving over the taller man’s body, caressing and squeezing in turn.

When next Malfoy broke for air, Harry took his chance, pressing a single, hot kiss to the other’s mouth, and pulling back.

‘Come with me.’ Malfoy’s eyes darkened in response, and Harry took his hand, leading him out of the crowd, towards an alcove he’d spotted earlier. There were a few wolf-whistles from other patrons, but for once, Harry couldn’t bring himself to care what anybody thought; they all knew what was going to happen; it was allowed, expected, encouraged even, within these walls.

Reaching the alcove, Harry pushed the other man against the wall with a dull thump. Malfoy was gaping at him as though he was dreaming, and he was flushed - it was charming, Harry thought, unbidden. Casting away the inconvenient thought - this meant nothing, Malfoy certainly wasn’t charming - he kissed him, pressing every inch of himself into the other’s body. There was a clack of teeth on teeth, and it was dark and sticky in this little alcove, but neither man minded. 

Harry pulled away to take a gasping breath and Malfoy leapt on the opportunity to latch back onto his neck, kissing down to his collarbone and littering his skin with more bruises. Harry moaned, wanton, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite so arousing.

‘Fuck. Fuck, I want you,’ he moaned, not thinking about the implication of his words. When Malfoy froze, pausing in his ministrations, and for the second time since this encounter began, Harry felt as if he’d been doused with icy water, and he cursed inwardly, wondering if he’d ruined this. 

He was only in doubt for a second, however, as Malfoy gripped his shoulders and spun them, so this time it was Harry against the wall, and Malfoy was pressing against him, the hardness of his cock jutting into his hip.

‘Tell me again. Tell me what you want, Harry.’ Harry gasped, his first name on the other man’s lips for the first time sending a jolt through him, and he moaned.

‘Fuck, I want you. I want you, please, fuck.’ He was repeating himself, babbling over and over as Malfoy - Draco, perhaps - started to thrust against him, one hand holding his hip in place, the other tangled in his hair, their mouths crashing together. Harry rutted back, electric heat pooling deep in his belly. ‘Please, god, don’t stop, don’t... Draco, fuck.’

Draco adjusted his position slightly, and Harry almost cried out when their cocks brushed each other through layers of denim and wool. His hand moved from Harry’s hip to his arse, and they found a delicious rhythm, moving together faster and faster.

It couldn’t last, it felt too good. Draco was the first to break, his rhythm stuttering and shuddering as he came with a muttered, ‘fuck, Harry. Fuck.’

Just the sound of his name uttered like that had Harry sailing over the edge too, groaning at the intensity of what he’d just felt all through his body. He slumped against the wall slightly, Draco’s forehead resting on his shoulder, and they panted together for several seconds, trying to regain their breaths. 

From his position on Harry’s shoulder, Draco regained the ability to speak first, ‘Well. Potter, that was...’

At the return of the use of his surname, Harry almost felt hurt, and he cursed at himself for sounding dejected when he interjected, ‘Unexpected?’

To his confusion, or perhaps relief, Malfoy let out a breath of laughter before finally raising his head to look Harry in the eyes. He was smiling slightly. Not his usual smirk: an actual smile.

‘I was going to say good. But yes, that too. Fuck,’ he said, still laughing softly.

Harry smiled at that. Maybe his surname didn’t herald impending disappointment after all. Taking Malfoy’s widening smile as encouragement, he placed another kiss to the other man’s lips, softer this time, lingering and slow.

They kissed softly for several moments, until the forgotten music of the club suddenly switched off, and they remembered where they were. As they broke apart, the lights came on, and Harry pushed off the wall, one hand still on Malfoy’s waist.

‘This was fun,’ he spoke, voice seeming too loud now in the quieter club.

Malfoy’s smile turned into a smirk, though the smile was still evident in his eyes. 

‘It was. I should go. Maybe see you around, Harry.’

With that, Malfoy turned and disappeared into the crowd of people leaving the building. Harry slumped against the wall again with a sigh. He still wasn’t sure quite what had just happened, but he had a feeling he was in deep trouble.

Taking a breath, he left the club, venturing down a nearby alley to find a place to apparate. Yes, he was definitely in trouble, but for once, he felt as though this was trouble he could thoroughly enjoy.

He apparated home with a smile.

/

The second time Harry saw him was unexpected in a different way.

Harry was sat at the bar in a Ministry function room, desperately hoping to go a handful of minutes without being recognised by an adoring fan or pulled into yet another discussion about post-war efforts. He had finally been corralled into attending a fundraiser by Hermione, and so far it had exceeded his expectations in how awful it was, and after two hours of being subjected to incessant sycophancy and the unrealistic expectations of his elders, he just needed a drink and a moment of peace.

He felt, rather than saw, the presence of a man sit down on the stool beside him, and tried his best to stifle his sigh with a grimace, to little success.

‘Relax, Potter. Firewhiskey?’ 

Harry felt a jolt in his stomach at the smooth voice, and found himself gaping at Draco Malfoy like a fish. Malfoy didn’t wait for an answer and ordered neat whiskeys for the two of them. As the bartender prepared the drinks, Harry floundered for a moment; not knowing how to react in this situation. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be here; had tried to push thoughts of the blond to the back of his mind since they’d last met under the lights of the club. Was he supposed to acknowledge what had happened? Or pretend it had never taken place; that he’d never felt the other boy pressed close to him and heard him whisper dirty things in his ear?

He was saved from his internal panic by a drink being pushed towards him, and he picked it up, nodding to the bartender.

‘Thanks,’ he said to Malfoy, and was embarrassed to hear his voice come out thin and unsure. He cleared his throat and looked up at the other man.

Malfoy was looking back at him, an amused smirk on those blush-pink lips, but an unexpected shyness in his eyes.

‘Anything for the Chosen One,’ he said, his tone gently teasing, but Harry groaned, having had quite enough of that this evening already, and hid his face in his folded arms.

‘Oh, God, not you as well. For fuck’s sake, can’t I have one moment...’ Harry trailed off, mumbling into the bar top. He had thought Malfoy, of all people, would give him a break from the constant post-war narrative. He was interrupted from his thoughts by a surprisingly warm hand resting on his thigh below the bar. He jerked his head up to look at Malfoy in shock.

Malfoy wasn’t quite looking him in the eye, but his eyes flickered to Harry’s face when he next spoke.

‘Relax, I’m messing with you. Merlin knows I’ve been called enough names tonight myself. I’m not staying. This whole thing is absolute hell, I just had to show my face. It’s a good night for Broomsticks though, don’t you think?’

In a flash, he’d removed his hand - Harry’s leg suddenly felt oddly cold - and drained his glass, and was on his feet, casting another glance at Harry’s face; when their eyes met briefly, he smirked again, and Harry felt a flash of heat between them before Malfoy turned to make his exit.

What the hell was that? Harry’s head swam as he sat, sipping his drink and wondering when he’d been transported to an alternate dimension. Was that... an invitation? It had been a week since their clandestine first meeting in the club, was Malfoy asking for a repeat performance already? And so openly...

Harry did consider for a second that the hand on his thigh had been a tactile hallucination related to one too many firewhiskeys and that Malfoy had simply been remarking on what a good night for flying it was. Of course, it was blowing a gale outside, but even flying in a storm seemed preferable to sitting through any more of this dreadful event.

Malfoy had been right about that; this evening was hell. And the more he thought about it, he wouldn’t mind blowing off some steam at Broomsticks, whether Malfoy was there or not. He finished his drink, and stood up suddenly. Yes, after putting up with simpering fans and boring ministry officials all night, a bit of dancing would do him good. And what better way to do that than in the complete anonymity of Broomsticks, where he could let go of the image of the hero he was always expected to be, and dance with whomever he liked, even if that person happened to be a male ex-Death Eater who his friends would definitely not approve of?

Getting to his feet, Harry drained his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the counter in a decisive move. He’d made his decision, now to make his escape.

/

The club was heaving with warm bodies, glimmering under flashing lights. Harry had managed to slip out of the Ministry almost entirely unnoticed - though not without a disapproving glare from Hermione, and a pleading, jealous look from a bored Ron. He’d stopped by Grimmauld Place to quickly change out of his stiff, formal robes and into something more form-fitting and more muggle-friendly. He wasn’t going to win any prizes for best dressed, but he knew his arse looked particularly good in these jeans, and that would do for tonight.

He scanned the crowd as he pushed his way through to the bar, telling himself he wasn’t looking for anyone in particular - and certainly not Malfoy. He smiled at a couple of familiar faces, and shook his head with a grimace when an older man with an unfortunate beer belly tried to grab his arm, but eventually he made it to the bar. And there, was Draco Malfoy.

For a moment, Harry found himself stood stock still, begrudgingly admiring the other boy. He cut a lean profile as he leaned languorously against the bar, sipping from a glass and chatting with the young bartender as though they knew each other. How many times has he been here? Harry wondered. He was obviously comfortable in both the club and his own skin, in a way Harry could admit he envied. He was wearing a beautifully tailored pale blue dress shirt over black trousers, and the lights made his hair shine almost white. 

In what he would claim was an attempt to return the favour for Malfoy’s earlier actions, but was actually more a nervous inability to properly announce his presence, Harry cautiously moved up to the other boy, and sat himself by his side at the bar. The bartender looked at him with some disdain, and Harry wondered if maybe he’d been hoping to have Malfoy for himself tonight; but when Malfoy turned to look at him, Harry could immediately see that that had never been on the cards. 

All of a sudden, it was as though the two of them were the only people in the room; Malfoy fixed him with such a piercing stare that Harry felt like an animal in a trap, incapable of moving or looking away. After a moment, Malfoy smiled; a real smile, though this quickly morphed into a smirk.

‘You came,’ Malfoy said, almost too quietly against the noise of the club.

‘Well,’ Harry replied, ‘It’s not a bad night for Broomsticks, after all.’

Malfoy gave a bark of laughter, then turned and gestured for two more drinks from the bartender, who sighed before passing them over, and leaving them to it. 

‘So...’ Harry was hesitant, not quite sure where to go with this situation, ‘Do you come here often?’

Immediately he knew it wasn’t quite the right thing to say, as Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, ‘That, Potter, was a terrible line.’

Harry blushed, and he spluttered slightly on his drink, ‘It wasn’t a line! I just... you seem... the bartender. You seemed to know him. Not that I mind. But I’d not seen you here before last week. Not that I was looking. And I’m not here all the time. Oh fuck, stop talking Harry.’ This last bit was said under his breath to himself as he felt his face bloomed redder. Malfoy was still smirking at him, amusement clear in his eyes. Which, Harry supposed, was better than disdain, at any rate, but he still felt like hiding behind the bar.

‘Harry, relax.’

At his words, Harry realised that at some point during his blathering on, Malfoy had moved closer to him, until he could feel the heat coming from the other boy. He gulped, and looked up, his gaze locking with those sparkling grey eyes, so close to his own.

‘I’ve been here a few times. Joel always works Thursdays and he’s alright. Not my type,’ - he said this slowly, pointedly, - ‘but alright.’

‘Not your type...’ Harry echoed. 

‘No.’ There was that smirk again. ‘Do you want to dance?’

‘With you?’ The words slipped out and he cursed again, under his breath. 

‘No, with Joel,’ Malfoy laughed. ‘Harry. Come on.’ 

And with that Harry found himself being dragged by the hand - since when did Malfoy hold hands with him oh my god - into the crush of bodies, and another hand was snaking its way up his torso. When the warm fingers touched the skin above the low neckline of his t-shirt, he found himself closing his eyes and letting out a breath. This is happening. This is real. This is good.

Harry shook off the last of his nerves and confusion, and squeezed the hand that was still holding his, before letting go and reaching behind the other boy to pull him closer. Draco let out a small moan which reverberated through his chest, and they began their dance, swaying hips and finding rhythm.

Harry lost count of the songs they danced to. He found that for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t really thinking about anything at all, except the feel of Draco’s chest and hips and hands on his. Draco looked magnificent on the dance floor, beautiful and confident and... sparkling? Like he was wearing glitter on his cheeks. Harry smiled at this, and raised a hand to the other boys cheek to check; Draco smirked in response, and lifted his eyebrows as if to say, ‘yes, and what of it?’ then pressed closer to Harry, grinding against him slightly.

That gave Harry all the confidence he needed, and suddenly they were kissing, and it was every bit as good as he remembered. Draco’s lips parted under his, and Harry swept his tongue into his mouth, eliciting a groan. Draco tasted like expensive whisky and muggle cigarettes, and Harry couldn’t get enough. Draco’s hands were fisted tightly in his hair - and there was a kink Harry hadn’t realised he had - and Harry’s were teasing at the bare skin of Draco’s back where his shirt had ridden up, and every nerve in his body was on fire with want and need. 

If pressed, Harry would insist that the next words to come out of his mouth were the result of a temporary disappearance of his faculties, though in that moment it felt like the most logical of suggestions.  
  
Draco had broken the kiss and was instead working his way down Harry’s neck and along his collar bone, sucking and nipping, peppering his skin with love-bites. 

‘Come back to mine,’ Harry gasped, breathless.

Draco paused in his ministrations and pulled away only slightly, to give Harry a curious, uncertain look.

‘It doesn’t have to mean anything,’ Harry echoed Draco’s words from the week before, and suddenly they were kissing again, and he found himself being led blindly towards the exit.

The pair stumbled out the doorway, laughing breathlessly as the bouncer rolled his eyes at them, and pushed their way through the congregation of smokers outside and into the empty alleyway by the club.

In the relative quiet of the alley, they paused for a moment just to look at each other, breathing heavily and pressed together from chest to knees. 

After a second or two, Draco pressed another kiss to Harry’s lips, firm and urgent this time, before pulling away enough to place his hands on the other boy’s shoulders. ‘Are you sure?’

Though it was definitely the heady cocktail of hormones and alcohol swimming in his bloodstream talking, Harry had never been more sure of anything in his life. Without another word, one arm tight around Draco’s waist, the other reaching for his wand, he apparated them both back to Grimmauld Place.


	2. Two Punch Drunk Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes Draco home.
> 
> (That's it, that's all the plot there is in this one.)

They landed with a small thud in Harry’s bedroom, arms still around each other, and immediately Draco’s lips were back on his. Draco spun them around to push Harry up against the bedroom door, kissing the corner of his mouth, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his neck, and gasping for breath, Harry reach his hands up to the other man’s chest, tugging desperately at the buttons of his shirt, trying to get at the pale skin below. 

With Draco’s shirt open, Harry ran his hands up his chest, eliciting a gasp against the skin of his throat as his fingers brushed the stiff peak of his right nipple. Intrigued, Harry pinched it between his finger and thumb, causing Draco to groan, and Harry took this as permission to take over the kissing, starting with the exposed curve of his neck and working his way down over his shoulder, fluttering kisses over his chest until he could take his left nipple gently between his teeth, tongue swirling around it and finding to his delight that this caused Draco’s groan to deepen.

‘Fuck,’ Draco exhaled, reaching to push his fingers under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt to push it up and Harry took the hint, letting it be pulled over his head. Eyes dark with arousal, Draco skated his hands over the gentle swell of newly developed abs, and around the smooth curve of his flanks, to his arse, which he grasped to pull their hips together. 

It was Harry’s turn to gasp as their erections brushed through layered denim, and he moved his way back up to kiss Draco firmly on the lips, pulling away to look in his eyes, questioning their next step. 

With one hand still pressing Harry’s hips to his own, Draco reached his other up to cup Harry’s cheek, returning his gaze as he began to roll his hips just slightly. ‘You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.’

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, but before he could question what that meant, Draco had pressed their lips together again, and they were kissing messily, hips finding a rhythm, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

Instead, he pushed off the wall, walking both of them backwards until the backs of Draco’s knees hit his bed, and he pushes the other man down onto the mattress, still kissing, clambering over him to straddle his thighs. He broke from the kiss again only to work his way back down, pressing hungry kisses to Draco’s pulse point, causing the blond to arch his neck to give Harry more access, and Harry used this to leave a trail of love-bites down the curve of his neck before licking a path down to his chest. He took the other boy’s nipple back in his mouth and sucked, rolling his hips so their hard cocks once again rubbed together, and Draco let out a cry. Harry moved to lick the other nipple, fuelled by the high-pitched keening noises emitting from Draco, and running his hands along the other’s sides.

Gasping, Draco tugged at Harry’s hair to get him to turn his face back up to his, and using the distraction of their lips meeting again, he pushed at Harry’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back, and taking his place on top of the other boy. Feeling winded, Harry lay looking up at Draco as he trailed his hands down his chest and abdomen, and ran his fingers along the waistband of Harry’s jeans. Draco pressed one hand to his straining erection, and then reached for the button of his jeans, and Harry suddenly felt a slight bolt of panic, reaching a hand out to still Draco’s wrist.

‘Wait,’ he said. 

Draco stilled, not looking away from Harry’s face, but not speaking, unsure what to do now.

‘I just... I’ve not actually...’ Harry struggled to form a coherent sentence, torn between unprecedented arousal and embarrassment at his own inexperience. ‘I just, I haven’t really done this before.’

Part of Harry expected mockery; this was, after all, still Draco Malfoy, and whilst they seemed to have found themselves engaged in a bizarrely conflict-free, mutually beneficial situation for possibly the first time ever, excluding their first meeting at Broomsticks, he wasn’t sure that Malfoy of all people could possibly let it slide that he, Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, was an inexperienced virgin. 

He was surprised, therefore, when the unsure, possibly even concerned look on Draco’s face was replaced with a small smile which looked an awful lot more like relief.

Leaving the button of Harry’s jeans closed for now, Draco shuffled closer, so that he could press a small, unbelievably soft kiss to Harry’s lips. He dropped one hip to the bed, so that he was half lying beside Harry, with one leg slung across his thighs, and looked at Harry sheepishly.

‘I... haven’t really had much experience either. I’m kind of winging it, to be honest.’ He wasn’t quite making eye contact, and looked thoroughly embarrassed in a way Harry was unaccustomed to seeing on the usually cocky and confident Pureblood. 

Harry smiled. ‘I couldn’t tell,’ he said. ‘We can just... wing it together, maybe?’

‘God, Potter, you and your lines.’ Draco snorted, and buried his nose into Harry’s neck. ‘Who knew you were so smooth?’ Harry could feel his smirk against his skin.

‘Shut up,’ Harry said, laughing and poking a finger at Draco’s side. 

Draco lifted his head, still smirking, and pushed himself up on to his forearms to hover over Harry, pressing their lips together, then pulling away to catch Harry’s gaze. He rolled his hips, once, slowly, and asked in a low whisper against Harry’s skin, ‘What do you want?’

A shiver ran down Harry’s spine at the question. Too many things, he thought to himself. Where to start?

‘Maybe we could...’ He brought his hand to the button of Draco’s trousers between them, hoping the other boy would catch his meaning.

‘Yeah,’ Draco breathed, ‘yeah, we can do that.’ 

Two pairs of nervous hands reached to undo buttons and zips, fingers brushing soft skin. Draco rolled back onto his side to shimmy out of his trousers, and trying not to stare, Harry followed suit. Flailing awkwardly from his position on the bed, he let out a small undignified giggle when his foot caught in the leg of his jeans, but Draco only smirked, and pulled to free him. Then, he was back in position, hovering over Harry.

And then, they were kissing again.

The feeling of so much skin on skin seemed to Harry to produce electricity in his body, like thunderclouds in a storm. They kissed, wet and messy and hot, and Draco’s hands went to his hair, tangling and pulling as Harry encircled him in his arms, pulling him into his chest.

‘Fuck,’ Harry gasped, as their cocks brushed, only two thin layers of cotton separating them. If rutting against Draco in the club last week, trousers safely on, had felt good, this felt incredible, and Harry only wanted more.

The thought of feeling just a little more skin on skin made him groan, and he made his decision almost without thinking about it, flipping Draco onto his back, making him gasp, and grabbing his wrists, holding them down on either side of his head. Below him, Draco was flushed, pupils dilated and hair a mess, and Harry thought he had never seen anyone look quite so debauched. 

Without breaking eye contact, Harry trailed his hands along Draco’s arms and over and down his chest. His fingers danced across his smooth stomach, and as they brushed the soft curl of hair on his lower abdomen and reached cotton, Harry bit his lip, his gaze turning questioning.

Seeing where this was going, Draco closed his eyes and moaned, and then he nodded, and Harry carefully pulled his underwear down, revealing his hard, pink cock. Unable to tear his eyes away from it, Harry tentatively reached for it, fingers dancing across the length for a moment to feel it’s silky softness. 

‘Fuck, Draco... can I?’ Draco nodded again, more frantically this time, eyes still shut tight, and this was all the consent Harry needed to grasp Draco’s dick as though it were his own, delighting in knowing that he was the cause of its hardness, of the glistening bead of pre-come emerging from the tip, and of the blissful noises Draco had started to make as soon as he began to move his hand up and down the shaft. 

‘Mm... no, wait,’ Draco gasped, and Harry paused, mid-stroke. ‘No, no, don’t stop, please don’t stop, just... you as well. Take them off.’

It took Harry a painfully slow two seconds to work out what was being asked of him, but when he figured it out, he didn’t waste any time in tugging off his own boxers and resuming the movements of his hand as Draco reached for his own, aching length with long, elegant fingers.

Harry groaned; having the other man’s hand wrapped around him was unlike anything he’d felt before - somehow a thousand times more intense than touching himself, and he could already feel heat coiling in his belly. 

He cried out as Draco swept a thumb over the wet head of his cock, and with his spare hand pulled Draco’s head down to catch his lips again in a desperate, filthy kiss. Holding him closer still as their tongues battled for dominance, Draco ran his nails down Harry’s back, down to the swell of his arse, and he squeezed.

‘Fuck, do that again, god, I’m...’ Harry gasped hotly against Draco’s ear causing a shiver to run through him.

‘Do it.’ 

Harry had never wanted to follow a command so badly, and when he felt Draco’s fingers dig into the skin of his backside once more, it was suddenly too much and he spilled himself with a cry. With the heat of Harry’s release pooling on his stomach, and Harry’s hand still working at his cock, it didn’t take long for Draco to follow him over the edge.

In the aftermath, their breaths synchronised, and they gasped together as they came down from the high of their mutual orgasms. Eventually, Harry relaxed, falling to one side of Draco, one leg still strewn against his hip, his head resting against Draco’s chest. Harry wondered whether the other man could feel his heart thundering in his chest as he relived what had just happened, over and over.

Eventually, their breathing settled and they found themselves drifting, in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! I know it's been three months, but Medical school is cancelled until further notice, so I figure now is as good as any to work on my smut-writing skills. This is literally the only vaguely explicit thing I've ever written, so please be kind, but constructive feedback is very welcome!
> 
> Title is from the song Taxi, by The Maine.


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